Posting this at past midnight because I had to wait to greet my sister a happy birthday lol she's a die-hard swiftie and turned 22 today so naturally, she played Taylor's 22 as soon as the clock hit 12 🤣
There might be some typos here, but I'll only start editing them when the book is done.
Enjoy!
*****
April 14, 2028 - France
I'm a very vocal and upfront person. I know this and everyone else who's been around me for at least five minutes will agree. With my years of experience of being a lawyer, it's become a natural instinct to always have something to reply to. Even when we don't open our mouths to speak, our minds are filled with words that can easily match the ones from the person we were speaking with.
I knew therapy wasn't going to be easy and the first thirty minutes spent in silence proved that to be true. Before this session, I was evaluated so that they'd know which of the psychologists in the clinic would be better equipped to help me. They asked me a bunch of questions, none of which dove specifically into what happened to me but I did give a vague explanation.
I lost my parents and my sister in one night.
I was sexually assaulted.
I almost lost my husband.
I said those things with a stoic look on my face because, at that moment, I was not ready to open myself up. At least it gave them an idea as to how the past three years have been for me.
Are you easily startled? Do you have difficulty concentrating? Do you have difficulty falling asleep? Do you isolate yourself? Do you feel emotions such as fear, guilt, or anger? Do you feel negatively about yourself? Do you experience physical stress? Have you experienced flashbacks of the events? If yes, what happens during these flashbacks? What happens after?
It became harder and harder to answer each question and when the time came that the psychologist ticked off the last one, I was about ready to leave the room.
Charles was with me when they gave the diagnosis. Before coming to the clinic, I already did my fair share of reading and had a few guesses, including post-traumatic stress disorder. It wasn't a shock to hear those words from the psychologist, but rather a bit comforting to finally put a name to what I was feeling. I know what PTSD was and I've met a lot of clients during my life in Boston who lived with the same mental illness.
"I don't want to waste the time." I told Estelle, the psychologist I'd be working with for the next few weeks. She was an English woman who worked with people that witnessed and experienced traumatic events such as violence, sexual assault, and other disasters. Estelle had light brown hair that was always straight and fell behind her back, two thin silver clips holding the hair by her face. She was in her late thirties which meant she was only about seven to eight years my senior.
"We're not wasting time." Estelle said, leaning back on her seat and smiling at me. Her office setup was not what I expected. I thought I was going to see a couch and a single chair for her, walls designed with framed quotes that were either encouraging or irritating, depending on the person. Instead, she had a round table in the middle of the room which had three chairs. There was a bookshelf that housed her books and certificates. The walls were painted in a sky blue and there was only one thing hanging on it— a painting of what looked like a house in the south of France. "This isn't easy, Nadia, so don't put the pressure on yourself to share everything on the first day."
"But I want to share something." I replied and she nodded her head. Another thing I noticed about Estelle was that she didn't take any notes. The only thing on the table was a plate of croissants and two cups of coffee for the two of us. Estelle's eyes brightened as she gestured for me to continue. "I— I have a tendency of not asking for help. I've gotten used to being independent that I think I can do most of the things on my own." I bit my lip and looked down at my fingers, feeling the heaviness begin to form in my chest. "That night in Monza when...when I was sexually assaulted." I gulped, deciding not to use the other word because I don't have it in me to say it out loud. "I wish I could've told Charles back in the club. Or Mick. Or Kika. Maybe if I did—"
"Nadia," Estelle interrupted me, causing me to look up and meet her eyes. "What makes you think you didn't ask for help that night?"
"Because I did it all alone. I went through all of it alone."
Estelle shook her head and leaned back, eyes analyzing me. "Only you didn't." I scrunched my eyebrows at her, not knowing where this conversation was going. "You went to the hospital that same night, correct?" She asked and I nodded my head. "And what did you do as soon as you arrived?"
"I told them to give me an exam." I said lowly, closing my eyes as flashes of images of me lying down on an exam table appeared in my mind. That was the most invasive thing I've ever done in my life. To be open and vulnerable like that in front of strangers after such a difficult night? It felt like hell.
"You asked for help." Estelle emphasized and she stood up, bringing her empty coffee cup with her. "It doesn't matter who you go to. It doesn't have to be someone you're close to. You're proof enough that as long as you know within yourself that you need help, you can get it. You were strong enough to ask for it, immediately as a matter of fact. There are a lot of people who aren't ready to do that." She gave me a reassuring smile before placing the cup on a tray that was sitting by her desk, filled with a mixture of coffee and tea. "I think that's all for today."
"But we still have twenty minutes." I said, glancing at the clock, but I was already standing.
"Yes, but you shared more than I expected to on the first day." I grabbed my purse and Estelle led me to the door. Before she could open it, she turned to me once again. "I know it's never been a problem for you, but I'd like for you to stay away from alcohol in the meantime. You told me you used it a little too much back when you moved to Monaco?" I nodded my head. "Self-medication with alcohol and drugs isn't a good mix for someone learning how to deal with PTSD. It tends to heighten our emotions and I imagine yours are already skyrocketing to the roof."
"More like the moon." I smirked, feeling a bit more at ease as she chuckled.
"See you next week." She smiled before leading me out the door.
Charles was sitting in the waiting room, AirPods in his ears as he watched something on his phone. He was clearly uncomfortable on the chair he was sitting on since he kept on moving around, trying to find a better position. A black cap was placed over his head and his face was almost being swallowed by the oversized hoodie he was wearing.
I tapped his head before taking the seat beside him. I don't even know how he lasted more than five minutes sitting on it because this piece of furniture shouldn't be allowed to exist. He looked up and smiled upon seeing me, taking off his AirPods and slipping them into his pocket.
"How was it?" He asked, placing an arm on the back of my chair as he turned his body towards me.
I shrugged my shoulders and took a deep breath. "I didn't speak for the first half hour, but Estelle says I did well. I spent the last ten minutes talking to her about Monza." Charles visibly tensed and I placed a hand over his arm, assuring him that I was okay. "Not about that exactly."
He relaxed his shoulders and stood up, offering his hand to me. This was a new habit. Ever since the nightmare, he's moved back into the master bedroom but he hasn't slept on the bed with me yet. We moved his mattress from the guest room and pushed the bed closer to the wall so that he had more space.
The hand-holding was a recent occurrence. I had another nightmare two days ago and my hands wouldn't stop shaking. It was the usual– me finding my family on New Year's Eve– so I knew how to manage it. Charles didn't so when he saw my hands shaking, he wouldn't let go of them until it stopped or until I fell asleep again, his hand raised and resting against the side of my bed as he slept on the mattress placed on the floor.
"What time are you and Andrea training later?" I asked him as we both settled into the car. He wasn't using his Pista today because we both decided that we had to keep a low profile going to the clinic in Nice and his car was like a flashing neon sign for people who knew Charles Leclerc.
"I'm afraid it's just me. He said he had to fix some family stuff before we got busy for Baku." I nodded my head and watched the scenery on my right as we made our way back to Monaco. I will never get over this view. It's refreshing to be surrounded by so much water, not to mention the nature that was maintained. I was never a city girl so living in Boston was a challenge for me. Now that I think about it, Antalya was similar to Monaco when it came to the views. Both offered a peaceful aura that you would never feel in the city. "Would you like to join me?"
"Hmm?" I hummed as I turned around to face him.
"Since training got canceled, I was thinking of just going on a run. Do you want to come with me?"
"To exercise?" I smirked, watching with amused eyes as he hesitated.
"Do you not exercise?" He asked back and I let out a small laugh at the judgment in his tone.
"I'm sorry. We're not all professional athletes who have to main good physiques." Charles rolled his eyes and pushed my head away when I leaned over the center console to tease him. "I'll go with you, but I'm not doing any running. I might die of exhaustion."
"Stop overreacting."
"I'm not. Ever since you came home, have you ever seen me go out for a run?"
"There's a first time for everything." He smiled, tapping his fingers on the steering while and glancing at me before turning his eyes back to the road.
"Absolutely not."
An hour later, I was chasing Charles like a madman.
It was his fault and my reason for doing so was reasonable. No one threatens my love for coffee. I know he lost his memory but the mere fact that he's seen me drink at least a cup every morning should be a lesson that coffee is a non-negotiable for me.
"CHARLES, I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU." I yelled after him while he only laughed, running through the trail we were on.
"I DON'T CARE." He yelled back. I almost caught him when he tripped because of a part of the ground that was uneven but he managed to stabilize himself.
"DELETE THAT STORY OR ELSE."
"OR ELSE WHAT?"
I didn't even know where we were as I followed him, but of course, my lungs were no match for his. When I knew I wouldn't be able to run after him, I flashed him a finger before I stopped, my chest moving up and down as I tried to catch my breath. I was thankful for the slightly cold weather because I feel like if we had done this earlier today, I'd be lying on the ground.
That's actually not a bad idea. I bent down to my knees and laid down. The place I stopped in had a floor made out of concrete and I almost let out a bitter laugh when I realized where we were.
I was right in the middle of the Fort Antoine Theater with the benches in front of me and the Mediterranean Sea facing my back.
"See? I told you there was a first time for everything." Charles grinned when he came back, sitting down beside me. As soon as he sat down, I pushed his body with all my might. "Ow!"
"Delete that story right now or else I'm calling Gabby to murder you."
"Why would she be the one to murder me?"
"Because she'll need a lawyer to get her out of jail and that would be me." I smiled at him before rolling my eyes as he leaned his head back to laugh. "Seriously, though. You better delete that story because there is no way you're selling my coffee machine."
"It's also my coffee machine, you know." He replied but he brought out his phone and deleted the photo that he posted on his story with the caption for sale: €1.
A euro. He was selling my coffee machine for a fucking euro. I don't think I've ever been this offended in my entire life.
"Do you know where we are?" I asked him as I laid back down. My body was covered in sweat and I was looking forward to having a very long and peaceful bath when we get back home.
I saw Charles look around before he glanced down at me. "This is Fort Antoine." He said before he laid down on the concrete beside me and let out a groan. "This is fucking uncomfortable. Move your hands." He said, swatting my hands away that was placed on my stomach. My eyes widened when Charles laid his head down on my abdomen instead, sighing as he tried to become more comfortable. "That's better."
It took me a few more minutes before I could speak, the tips of my fingers lightly touching his hair. "This is where you first called me Nova." I whispered and I felt his eyes on me as I continued to look at the sky above us, colors changing as the sun began to set.
"Are you going to tell me why I started calling you that?"
"Honestly? I think you forgot my name." I bit my lip to keep myself from laughing but it didn't work when Charles, himself, laughed.
"I sound like a dick."
"You were infuriating." I said, sitting up so that it was my turn to look down on him. "Still are, actually."
"So are you." He smirked back and I rolled my eyes at him before moving back to my previous position.
The two of us stayed there, watching as the skies above us turned from orange to red and then to pink. I had begun to softly run my hands through his hair and Charles didn't complain. I sneaked a glance at him and saw that his eyes were closed and the corner of his lips was turned up into a small smile. I smiled at the image, engraving it into my mind, and wondering if he will ever have the urge to call me Nova again.
*****
The reason why I kept pushing off chapters that involved therapy is because I don't know how the conversation should go. I am not a professional and I base most of my writings about Nadia's therapy on the internet and past books I've read that have talked about it :)
✧Reese✧